FIC: What Is Lost (1/1)

[nilchance]

Title: What Is Lost
Author: nilchance
Pairing: CWRPS, JDM/JA
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real. Not character defamation. Just fiction.
Summary: Close encounters of the Jeff kind.
A/N: Hooker fic, d/s themes. Sequel to Where the Baptized Drown. Betaed by the wonderful embroiderama.



The night dragged on too long, his jacket was too tight, and the company was abysmal. Jensen had expected better out of the first appointment he spent on his feet instead of his knees.

The client's hand rested hot in the small of Jensen's back, knuckle digging into his spine every few minutes to remind Jensen it was there. Hard to forget. Marcus Stone, mover and shaker that he was, had hauled his rent-a-whore from one side of the room to the other, meeting every producer and studio head and executive that Marcus could hunt down. He seemed to smell opportunities to simper. Not that Jensen had been introduced; he was an accessory, a pretty thing in somebody else's cheap suit on Marcus's arm, a drink-holder who laughed at stupid stories or else. It had only taken one deep jab of Marcus's thumb into his kidneys for Jensen to learn his cues.

Christian had talked about being taken to studio parties, though in Christian's case he was a beard or an interesting new "friend". Jensen had gotten it in his head that it'd be exciting, or at least a good excuse to load up on champagne and expensive food. He was too pretty to be an interesting friend, apparently, too pretty to even talk. Christian hadn't mentioned the a palpable air of desperation. Jensen had already seen too many pupils blown wide from cocaine.

The view was gorgeous, at least; the club overlooked the city below, a glittering net of lights stretching all the way out to O'Haire, streets like arteries pulsing and full of life. He wanted to be down there, lost in the crowd in comfortable shoes. He wanted to be anywhere else.

Another jab into the back of his hipbone. Jensen pulled his attention back from the windows, and tried to smile appreciatively. Marcus stroked the place he'd bruised. "Honey, could you go get me another glass of champagne?"

Go fuck your mother, Jensen thought, and beamed. "Of course, Marcus."

"There's a good boy." Marcus's hand slid lower, under the jacket, and palmed Jensen's ass. With a swat, Marcus said to his companions, "He's such a fixer-upper. Sweet, though. You know, I found him on the El..."

Jensen disengaged and slid through the crowd. The champagne trays were close enough to the door to be tempting. From there, he could see in one of the corners: a studio executive holding his date's hair back, teaching her to bend and inhale cocaine through a straw. Jensen considered, then swigged one of the champagne glasses down without breathing. The burn hurt his throat, but it kept him from going over and punching someone who could buy him.

Repeat business; that was the beauty of working parties. Jensen was a walking advertisement reading, This too could be yours.

As he put down the empty glass and picked up a full one, he looked past the executive. His heart lurched painfully in his chest.

There, nursing a glass of scotch and listening to a director Jensen recognized from the back of a DVD, was Jeff. It seemed odd to see him in a crowd, the jeans replaced by a suit hugging every lean line of his body, a cigarette in his other hand. There was no woman under his arm, no fawning boy; it shouldn't have made Jensen feel better to see him alone.

He was staring. He couldn't help it. Jeff hadn't called, hadn't set up another appointment, and that was an answer louder than words; Jensen still had to look at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gave a dirty smile.

Stay there, Jensen thought, like a crazy man. Just stay over on your side of the room and we won't have any trouble. All right?

Jeff laughed at something the director had said, baring the line of his throat. His tie had slipped loose, maybe tugged down by his own impatient hand.

All right.

Seizing the champagne glass, harder than necessary, Jensen melted back through the crowd. Marcus was losing his audience, making them fidget and look past his shoulder. Looping an arm around Jensen, Marcus pulled him close like he'd conjoin them at the hip. He kissed Jensen's jaw, a theatrical wet smack, and took the champagne. "Thank you, baby. Anyway, Mr. Fields, I'll let you move along and find a new target. Ha, ha. You're looking beautiful as ever, Madison, I'm serious. You should consider acting. Your eyes are a window to your soul."

Jensen wondered if he could die from displaced mortification. Marcus had no shame, but Jensen was about to choke on the backdraft of insincerity. Considering that he faked pleasure for a living, that was saying something.

They moved away, and Marcus turned on him almost immediately. "What took you so long? I was dying."

"Sorry."

"Christ," Marcus muttered. "Fucking useless. Hope you can at least use your mouth for sucking-- heyyy, Ian! Great to see you, buddy!-- because you were a waste of good money."

And Marcus was a waste of good oxygen. Jensen kept his mouth shut, his jaw clenched so hard from smiling that it hurt. He kept his eyes straight ahead, avoiding anyone's face. He wouldn't remember any of them by morning. He hadn't remembered any of the others.

"-buy from you people so that I can get smart ones, if I wanted a pretty face I'd go to the streetcorner." Marcus kept rubbing and digging in, restless motions to go with his endless blathering. Would it be worth it to throw the champagne in his face and walk out? It was starting to look that way.

Jensen couldn't afford to walk out. It was that simple, that clean, so he kept walking and ignored Marcus. It'd be better when this was over, when he could use his mouth and turn his mind off. Just a little while longer and-

"Don't embarrass me," Marcus whispered. "Don't speak. I've paid enough to leave marks."

- And there'd be ice at the end of it, his own bed, a stack of library books and maybe a cold beer. He and Christian could talk shit about this idiot, his small dick and his insincerity. He'd be a joke, harmless; bruises faded, but Marcus Stone would have to live with himself forever. That was all the justice in the world.

With a flick of his fingertips, Marcus pulled them up short. His voice was broad and hearty, which was a sign of fear. "Hey, stranger! Haven't seen you around for a while. Any new projects?"

"Yeah." The voice jerked Jensen's head up like it had a handful of his hair. Jeff looked at him, his mouth crooked and his eyes hot. "One shows real promise."

God, oh God, oh God. Jensen held very still, afraid of what one of them might do if he moved. He was in layers of clothes, but he felt like Marcus had been hauling him around naked on a leash. Jeff knew what he was here to do.

"Good," Marcus said brightly. "That we all could be so lucky, right?"

"Mm." Jeff glanced at him, his expression shifting a little. Whatever he thought of Jensen, he thought worse of Marcus. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Jeff, this is John." Marcus cupped Jensen's hip, pulling him in closer. "Hot little number I found on the El. Sweet, but not real bright."

Jeff's mouth twitched. "Hi, John," he said solemnly.

Jensen gave him a tight smile.

Marcus looked between them, frowned, and tugged at Jensen again, trying to steer him into motion. "Well, it was great to see you, Jeff. I see Francis over there, we've got to-"

Without moving his attention off Jensen for a heartbeat, Jeff asked, "How much did you pay for him?"

Fuck. The room was too small, not enough air. For a paranoid moment, Jensen felt like the whole damned crowd was choking on their sudden silence.

It wasn't right, of course. No one was looking. The world went on. But Marcus's hand was rigid in the small of Jensen's back, his fingers pressing in a punishing tattoo of bruises.

"I'm sorry?" Marcus asked.

"You heard me."

"Are you suggesting that I-"

"Cut the bullshit," Jeff suggested, with a smile that was mostly teeth. "He's out of your league, Marcus. Besides which, we've met. Now how much?"

"I-" Marcus looked at Jensen. "I met you on the El. Tell him."

With a sunny smile, Jensen said, "I'm not supposed to talk."

The hate in Marcus's glare could've blistered paint. Then he turned it on Jeff, who didn't even blink, and it seemed to wither. "Eight hundred for the night."

Jeff nodded and reached into his jacket, pulling out a battered wallet. He withdrew several bills and folded them up in his fingers, extending them to Marcus. "Take the cash."

"Why should I?" Marcus demanded, more than a little petulant. "Maybe I want--"

"You've got something that's mine. Take the money, or I'll make sure you end up back in the mailroom." Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Thinking it over? You've got five seconds. Four. Three-"

"Fuck," Marcus spat, and snatched up the cash. "Fine."

"There's a good boy." With his now empty hand, Jeff bent his fingers at Jensen, like he was trying to beckon a stray cat out from under his car. "C'mon, sweetheart."

Yeah, the hell that Jensen was letting him off that easy. Still, he stepped away from Marcus's hand and went to Jeff's side. There couldn't be any confusing the issue.

To Jeff's credit, he didn't touch Jensen. He didn't have to; his warmth bled into Jensen's side, and his scent got inside Jensen's head.

Tucking the cash in his wallet, Marcus looked twitchily around to be sure that nobody had noticed their little psychodrama. If they had, no one was still watching. "I'm going to complain to your people," Marcus warned Jensen, stopping just short of waving his finger at him. "Watch your back."

Jensen let him have the last word. He waited until after Marcus had stalked away, lost in the crowd, before turning on Jeff. "What the hell was that?"

"Fun," Jeff said. "Tell me you didn't blow him already."

"That's none of your goddamn business."

"All right, so you didn't. That's good. You want a drink? Here." Jeff handed him his scotch. "I'll get another one."

"That thing you just did," Jensen said. "You can't do that."

Jeff shrugged. "It worked."

"I'm not supposed to break contract-"

"You're allowed to break contract if the client turns out to be a prick. You can break contract if you don't like their shoes. I should know, I've been over the fucking thing with my clients enough times. I'm not going to watch him drag you around like that." Jeff reached out a hand and tugged Jensen's tie. "This suit doesn't fit."

Jensen smacked his hand away. "I was fine."

Jeff grinned down at him, still holding the tie in his fingers. "You're welcome."

And damned if that didn't take all the wind out of Jensen's sails. With a sigh, he said, "Thank you. I appreciate it. But you can't just waltz in and buy out somebody else's contract."

With a noncommittal noise, Jeff pulled Jensen's tie again, loosening the knot. When he dropped it, Jensen felt a sting of regret. "You want to go?" Jeff asked. "I hate these things. I know a good place for dinner. I'm buying."

He ought to be pissed. He ought to be running. He couldn't even work up a good irritation, too goddamn tired. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid he might ask what Jeff meant by something that's mine.

"Is that all?" Jensen asked.

Jeff smiled, all the city lights behind him like stars. "For a start."

***

Dinner turned out to be sushi, good for an August evening with warm winds rolling in from the lake. The restaurant had been backed up halfway around the block, but Jeff breezed in and out in seconds, pausing only long enough to introduce the line cook to Jensen and vice versa. Jensen hadn't quite been sure what that was about; the line cook had given him a sharp, startled look before nodding firmly, like Jeff had made him sign a contract.

They took the sushi to Buckingham Fountain. Jeff's idea; Jensen had been in Chicago long enough to act like a local, avoiding the tourist traps, sticking to his own beaten path. It was quiet for a summer night, the tourists moving in packs, the working people long since in bed. The lights danced over the water and cast Jeff's face in shadow as they moved over the grass.

"Here looks good." Jeff paused, then handed over the bag of sushi and shrugged out of his jacket. He tossed it on the ground and nudged Jensen over. "Go on and sit."

Jensen looked at the jacket, then at Jeff. "You're kidding."

"Sit, or you're gonna break my heart." Jeff folded himself down on the grass and took the bag of sushi, then began setting up each carton of maki with care bordering on OCD.

Jensen sat, because he kind of had to. "I blew a guy in a public restroom yesterday."

"Congratulations. You're not working right now."

"I'm getting grass stains on your jacket."

"And I'm getting grass stains on my ass, so it's a matched set. Relax." Jeff grabbed the chopsticks, the cheap wood kind that conjoined at the head, and cracked them apart. With an ease born of practice, he snagged a maki and held it out to Jensen. "Here, try. It's good."

Jensen raised his hand to take the maki, but Jeff pulled it away, teasing. "Jerk," Jensen muttered, but dropped his hand. "What is it?"

"Nope. You're gonna have to trust me."

"You've got issues." Jensen leaned forward and took the maki. Jeff watched him, eyes hooded and deceptively sleepy. The slide of the chopsticks against his lips was strangely intimate, a jolt of contact when even their knees didn't touch. Closing his eyes to chew, Jensen hummed at the taste, cool clean seafood and sticky rice, the afterburn of wasabi. His stomach snarled, and Jensen covered his mouth to hide his smile. "Heh. Sorry."

Jeff laughed and picked up another maki. "Good?"

"Very good." Jensen snagged the paper bag and checked inside for his own set of chopsticks. There weren't any, just the pair in Jeff's hand. When Jensen looked at him, Jeff met his eyes and failed at innocence. "Problem?"

He shouldn't let this slide. Jeff hadn't paid him, technically, though Jensen was still coasting on Marcus's dime. There were limits. He shouldn't even be associating with a client outside of work, let alone one who made his stomach twist whenever he smiled. With Jeff, the danger rose exponentially. This wasn't some movie or some stupid fairy tale. Nobody rescued hookers, and Jensen couldn't afford to be saved.

He knew all that. It didn't stop him from yearning for Jeff's hand.

Reaching into the carton with his fingers, Jensen picked up the maki and deliberately popped it into his mouth. Once he'd finished chewing, he smiled. "Good thing sushi's finger food. Your friend forgot the other pair of chopsticks."

"My cousin, actually. And he didn't forget anything." Jeff tilted his head, his fingers resting on the rim of the carton. "I was hoping you'd eat from my hand."

All the blood went to Jensen's head, burning in his face. He was glad for the darkness and the colored lights of the fountain; maybe that would hide him. By the time he trusted himself to talk, his voice sounded rusty. "You're direct."

"No reason to lie."

"Why?" Jesus, that sounded too desperate, too much like he cared. Jensen swallowed and turned away for a minute, watching the traffic roll by. "You only used an hour of your own appointment, but you paid me for nine. You didn't call again, but you walk in and buy out somebody else's contract. Nothing you do makes sense. And you--"

He stopped. The sound of the fountain filled the silence, lights going from blue to red.

"And I what?" Jeff asked.

And you knew my name was Jensen.

"And you bought me dinner," Jensen said.

A rustle of fabric, and then Jeff's hand was on his throat. Jensen flinched towards him, a startled half-noise torn from his chest. He swallowed again, and he knew Jeff felt it that time. "Either get your hand off my throat or pay me for it."

Jeff didn't move away, resting his thumb in the hollow of Jensen's collarbone. His eyes were steady, holding Jensen's. "I made three appointments. They kept sending me the wrong boy."

"I don't work dispatch." Irritated by his own body, Jensen tried to shift away. Jeff's fingertips pressed against the nape of his neck, points of heat along his spine, holding him still. He sat up straighter under the weight and warmth of Jeff's hand. "So you got the wrong hookers. You fucked them anyway."

"No," Jeff said simply. "I didn't. I paid for their time and sent them home."

Something twisted in Jensen's belly. He looked down at his bitten fingernails, buying time to think. Jeff stroked his nape, light shivery touches that slipped beneath the collar of Jensen's jacket and shirt. He felt naked when Jeff touched him like that, and all the layers in the world wouldn't help. "Why'd you do that?" he asked, or accused.

"They weren't what I wanted."

"You're bad at this john thing."

"Am I?" There was a smile in Jeff's voice now. "I'll have to do better. As for only using an hour of my appointment, you're off. I used eight."

Fucker. Looking up, Jensen said acidly, "You let me sleep."

Jeff raised his eyebrows. "I don't sleep well alone."

Jesus, Jeff had slept in the bed. Jensen hadn't even woken up. Jeff could've... fuck, Jensen knew better than to sleep around people he didn't know. "Get a body pillow like a normal person."

"My dime, cowboy."

"Right." And that was what it came down to: Jeff had paid him, so he could do anything he wanted. He had to be making Jeff suspicious; why would a hooker complain about getting paid for seven hours of unmolested sleep? Jensen looked back down at his hands, empty in his lap. "Right. Sorry."

Jeff shifted, his palm cradling the back of Jensen's neck. "That's not what I meant. It was worth the money to me to get a good night's sleep. But it freaked you out-"

Jensen shook his head, automatic denial.

"Jen." Jeff shook him gently. "I want you to be careful. It's dangerous out here. Next time we'll figure out something else, that's all."

Anger rose up in Jensen's chest and choked him to silence. What the hell did Jeff know about danger? Who had he ever buried? For all Jensen knew, Jeff was the danger.

Shoving the anger down, Jensen asked, "Next time?"

"Yeah," Jeff said. "Next appointment. I know how to get to you now."

In more ways than one. Jensen squirmed, trying to shrug off Jeff's hand, and reached for another sushi roll. "You could have me tonight."

"I know I could." Jeff let him go, with a last stroke of his fingertips against the thin, sensitive skin behind Jensen's ear. It dragged a shiver from Jensen; Jeff smiled. "Go on and eat."

Sudden caution caught Jensen with his fingers resting on the maki, roe sticking to his fingertips. He frowned at Jeff. "You know they feed me at the safehouse."

Jeff raised his eyebrows, looking harmless. "I figured."

Mood souring, Jensen sat back. He took the maki only because he'd already touched it. "I don't need your charity. If this is some kind of 'save the hooker' martyr routine to make yourself feel better, you can just--"

"Whoa, there," Jeff said. "Who said this was charity? I sure as hell didn't complain about getting to touch you."

"For money. I'm a whore, not your date."

"All right, you're a whore." Jeff shrugged. "I've slept with other boys from your company."

It didn't help. Jensen's stomach squirmed at the idea. "Did you take them out to dinner?"

Glancing up through those damned sooty lashes, Jeff smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile; it was the predatory amusement of a cat that just conned a mouse into walking into its mouth. "Marcus was none of my business, and that isn't any of yours."

Jensen stared down at the food. "Fine."

"Proud, aren't you?" Jeff murmured.

Jensen didn't like what he heard in Jeff's voice, so he ignored it. He ate. After a few seconds, Jeff stretched out a hand and touched Jensen's knee. When Jensen didn't twitch, Jeff stroked him. The touch never dipped into dangerous territory; Jeff followed the line of his arm in endless patterns, smoothing him down.

It would be better when they fucked. Jensen could turn himself off and drift for a while. This, though... he couldn't predict the sweep of Jeff's fingers, or the corresponding jolt in his own belly. He wanted to suck Jeff's fingers clean; he wanted to snarl at him and run.

Finally, there was no more sushi to eat. Between the heat and the food and the steady rhythm of Jeff's hand, it'd be good to curl up on the grass and sleep. Instead, Jensen scrubbed at his face and looked up at Jeff. "Good sushi."

Jeff grinned. "Santo makes the best in town. Go on and drop in on him sometime, he'll be happy for some lunchtime business."

"Lunchtime's a popular hour for me."

"Shame." Jeff spanned Jensen's wrist with his fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the cuff of Jensen's shirt. With an absent frown, he glanced at the fabric and shifted so he was touching Jensen's wrist instead. That seemed to satisfy him. "You're wasted on a lunch-hour quickie."

"My God, you're right. They could be sleeping on me."

Jeff snorted and tapped the side of Jensen's head. "Smartass. You ready to go?"

Wow. Okay, then. Giving Jeff the hooker smile, Jensen said, "If you are."

Jeff smoothed his hand over Jensen's hair one last time, then rose to his feet. He offered Jensen a hand up, but Jensen pretended not to notice. Snagging Jeff's jacket on the way up, Jensen dusted bits of grass off and offered it back.

Taking his jacket, Jeff brushed his hand against Jensen's. It was a stupid move for first dates and high school dances, but Jensen's skin felt hot in the wake of Jeff's touch.

They headed for the safehouse hotel, a mercifully brief walk. Jeff kept touching him, resting a hand on Jensen's back when someone looked at them too long, brushing Jensen's fingers with his own like he intended to hold hands. When Jensen twitched his hand out of reach before Jeff could try it, Jeff smirked.

Finally, they reached the awning of the hotel. Cabs weaved in and out of the curb in front of them, dispatching disheveled couples. The doorman glanced at Jensen, mouth twisting, then away. Jensen went to push past him, but Jeff gripped his elbow and pulled him up short.

Turning back, Jensen asked, "What?"

Jeff eased into his space, his eyes heavy-lidded. He touched Jensen's cheek with the back of his hand and murmured, "Good night, Jen."

"What're you... you're leaving? Now?"

"Figured I'd walk you home." Stroking Jensen's cheek, Jeff smiled. "The freckles are adorable. I hadn't noticed."

"You--" Jensen started to back up, but Jeff gripped his arm. It was a gentle reminder, a flick of the reins; Jensen stopped and hated himself for it. Scraping up his dignity, Jensen put on the coy smile and touched Jeff's chest. "Wouldn't you rather come in?"

"I would. But I'm still leaving." Jeff bent closer, towards Jensen's mouth. The scent of his skin got in Jensen's head; he barely turned away in time, and felt Jeff smile against his jaw. "No kissing? That's very Pretty Woman."

It had more to do with herpes and hygiene. Jensen gave a bitter smile. "Something like that."

"Lucky for you," Jeff murmured, his breath hot and close. "I like working for what I want."

"Buying it isn't the same as working for it." The words were out before Jensen could choke on them. He didn't wince; he'd lost tonight's appointment anyway, screwed up something he hadn't even noticed. If he was going to get punished, he might as well deserve it.

With an amused noise, Jeff rubbed against Jensen. Jensen's fists clenched. "And I like it when you hiss and scratch like you wouldn't just curl up on my lap if I petted you right. So tell me, boy, if I can't kiss your mouth, where can I kiss? Here?" Soft mouth and harsh stubble seared Jensen's jaw. "Here?" Lower, to the place where the tendon showed in his throat. Despite himself, Jensen shuddered, and Jeff smiled against him. "Oh, definitely there."

"Jeff." Jensen hated that note in his voice, raw and naked. He wouldn't say please; he'd never beg a john. But God, he wanted, his body strung too tight.

Jeff rumbled low in his throat and nudged Jensen's head back. He spoke against the skin, so low Jensen almost lost it against the noise of traffic. "I want you to go home, Jen. Go home and think about it. I'll see you soon."

They were standing too close. Jensen ran his hand from Jeff's chest down his side, and Jeff let him, even when Jensen lingered a minute too long. Then he backed up; Jeff watched him go, eyes almost black in the city lights. He waited until Jensen was inside the hotel's sliding doors. Whatever was written on Jensen's face, it made Jeff grin as he walked away.

Jensen waited until Jeff was gone, lost in the dwindling crowd. Then he reached into his jacket and took out the wallet he'd lifted from Jeff's pocket as they kissed.

Whatever Jeff's deal was, nobody liked a hooker that stole. That'd be the end of it. Simple.

If Jensen's chest hurt, it wasn't anything new.